


O Captain! My Captain!

by heliocentricity



Series: O Captain! My Captain! [1]
Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliocentricity/pseuds/heliocentricity
Summary: This was supposed to take place directly after the novel ends, but then I reread Walton's last letter and realized that he obviously wasn't telling the truth to his sister.  So, this is a small continuation of the novel, disregarding the very, very end.  Basically, the creature and Walton are soft together, and they both get a hopeful ending!  Anyone else who dies in the novel is still dead, though. :( Also, it's pretty gay, but that's not the main focus of the story.  (I'm not sure if I formatted the tags correctly, but there is a past relationship between Victor and Walton and a current friendship between Robert and the creature!)





	O Captain! My Captain!

**Author's Note:**

> We really be out here naming our fics after preexisting works. :P

In a letter to his sister dated September 12th, 17—, Captain Robert Walton wrote about his meeting with Frankenstein’s creature, an encounter that began with the exchange of harsh words and ended with the creature disappearing into the Arctic wastes forever. 

That letter is a work of fiction, and it is also not the original letter Walton sent to his sister. The original was changed by Margaret herself before publishing the letters in the form of a novel. She and her brother agreed it would be best for the world not to know the true ending, and so they devised a decoy of sorts, to make readers believe the story was truly over. However, that could not have been further from the truth. Stories never end; only the words do. 

Although that original letter has since been lost to time, the events of that night and the days that followed live on. This is what really happened. . . 

. . .

It was well past midnight when the creature stole onto the ship where he knew the body of Victor Frankenstein was being held. He didn’t know the specific room it was in, so he was forced to explore the twisting hallways a little longer than he would have liked. This wasn’t too dangerous, though, because most everyone on the ship was asleep and the creature was surprisingly light on his feet. He relied on this preternatural grace to slip through the passages of the ship undetected. All was silent, save for the slight whistle of the wind and the whisper of water against the ship’s sides. 

It wasn’t long before the creature found the room he was looking for by peering through a round window set into the door. He scanned the room and found it was completely abandoned except for Victor, who rested inside a coffin on top of a covered table. Well, to call it a coffin required a little imagination. It looked more like a long crate that had been repurposed. It might have once held provisions or firewood.

Satisfied this was his destination, the creature pushed open the door, which gave a slight creak, and closed it just as gently behind him. He held onto the door handle for a minute and closed his eyes, steadying his breathing and mentally preparing himself for what was to come next. He had overheard some sailors that afternoon talking about Victor’s recent death, but part of him hadn’t believed them. Even seeing Victor lying in a coffin wasn’t enough to convince him. The creature wanted to look into the young man’s face, feel his pulse, and confirm his death for himself. Only then would he be satisfied and allow himself to find a similar rest. 

However, as he stood at the door, he felt an odd presence in the room. He strained his ears and could swear he heard someone breathing. His heart leapt. So, Victor wasn’t dead after all. This thought made him relieved more than anything, as he didn’t feel ready to be so entirely alone in the world. But a second later, paranoia replaced his euphoria. Perhaps the rumor of Victor's death was nothing more than a clever ruse, a trap designed to lure the creature onto the ship and allow Victor to exact his revenge once and for all. 

Overcome by these doubts, the creature spun around wildly and saw, to his surprise, that there was a dark figure lying on the floor. He was wearing a coat so large, it seemed to swallow him, and he appeared to be asleep, though he shivered now and then, probably thanks to the cold air the creature had brought in with him. Upon seeing him, the creature couldn’t help but inhale sharply, and the sudden sound made the man twitch and roll over. Now that he was facing the creature, he saw that the man’s eyes were scrunched up and his forehead was puckered, as though he were desperately trying to stay asleep but was mere seconds from awakening. 

Victor was momentarily forgotten as a new fear quickened the creature’s pulse. His first thought was to leave immediately the way he had come, but he knew that he would be helpless to stop the rusty hinges of the door from creaking again. Such a sound would certainly finish the task of waking up the human, who was no doubt a sailor on this ship. 

In the end, the creature elected to go deeper into the room and hide, rather than leave it and run away. So, he skirted along the wall silently and pressed himself into a corner where the shadows hung thick as cobwebs. Then, he held his breath and stood frozen in place. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could stay the loud thumping of his heart, and he placed a hand over his chest self-consciously, as if that might somehow muffle the pounding.

The figure on the floor made a couple more small noises, then propped himself up with one elbow. He rubbed at his face with an ungloved hand and asked softly, “Victor, is that you?” His voice was rough, as though he had been crying before he had fallen asleep. Still not fully awake, he sat up further, facing the side of the room where the coffin was arranged. The sight of it seemed to stir something in his memory, for his entire being sagged, and he whispered a soft, “Oh,” before pulling his knees into his chest like a small child. 

Despite what he had come here to do, the creature felt his heart go out to the sailor before him. He felt like he was back at the De Lacey residence, watching helplessly through a hole in the wall as a family suffered. Except, in this case, there was no firewood to collect, and the creature felt there was absolutely nothing he could do to assuage this man’s pain. 

A few minutes later, the sailor pushed to his feet and approached the coffin. His lips trembled, and he seemed about to say something but ultimately decided against it. Then, stiffening, he shot a glance over his shoulder, at the doorway, and frowned. The creature began to worry he sensed something different in the room, and he stopped breathing completely in the hopes of avoiding detection. 

However, now the sailor seemed convinced something was wrong, and without moving from where he stood, he surveyed the room more thoroughly. When his eyes roved over the shadow in the corner where the creature was hiding, he squinted his eyes in an effort to resolve the shape. 

“Hello?” he whispered. A little louder, he pressed, “Is someone there?” 

The creature said nothing, determined to wait him out. But when the man stepped forward, as if ready to approach that part of the room where he stood hidden, the creature panicked. To avoid being cornered more than he already was, he stepped out into a pale shaft of moonlight that filtered in from a high-set window. The light sliced downward and illuminated the creature's hulking body in a wash of silver. Fortunately, everything above his collarbone remained shrouded in darkness, though no partial absence of light could disguise his unnatural height.

The sailor started backward upon seeing him, and sure enough, fear and shock flashed through his eyes. But these emotions quickly gave way to wonder and curiosity, which the creature admitted were better than what he was used to but which still made him feel uncomfortable, like a bug being surveyed under a microscope. He considered threatening the human to let him leave in peace, without alerting any of his shipmates, but the man spoke before he got the chance.

“Are you. . . “ he began uncertainly, the words catching in his throat. 

The creature didn’t respond, all grand schemes of striking fear into the human gone from his mind. Instead, he half-muttered something about leaving and made for the door. It had been so long since he last spoke with a human, that he wasn’t entirely sure he was still capable of it. And now more than anything he just wanted to get away from the tense situation as quickly as possible. 

The room was so small, and the creature so big, that he could have easily crossed it in just a few strides. However, his path was arrested by the sailor, who cried out, “Wait!” and grabbed onto the creature’s hand. It was cold as ice, from spending so many months outdoors, and when the human touched him, it sent a flash of warmth like lightning through the creature's body. Undoubtedly, the sailor was startled by their difference in temperatures, too. 

It was impossible to tell who recoiled first, but the very next moment, both men pulled apart and regarded the other warily. The door was well within the creature’s range, but something compelled him to stay for just a few moments longer. It might have been the odd jolt that shot through his heart upon being touched, but it could just as likely have been the heartwrenchingly desperate voice of the sailor as he shouted, "Wait!" The creature had heard something of his own voice in the sailor’s cry and had thought the man sounded almost as lost and alone as he himself felt.

Now, the sailor was rubbing at the hand that had made contact with the creature, as if trying to massage warmth back into it. His eyes were wide as he stared up at the being before him in awe, but he didn’t speak.

“Well?” prompted the creature, his voice sounding raw and much harsher than he intended. “What do you want of me?”

“I. . . ” The sailor blinked, and his hands stilled. Then, his eyes darted toward Victor’s body, and he said, “Victor told me about you.” 

The creature felt something in his gut knot painfully. “Did he now,” he said after a few seconds, when the sailor didn’t elaborate. Although the words formed a question, his voice stayed perfectly flat as he spoke. He was certain that whatever Victor had told this man had not biased the creature in his favor.

The sailor nodded then cleared his throat. "He did. And after hearing his story, it surprises me to see you here. Did you come to mourn him or to gloat?" 

The creature wrapped his arms protectively around himself and looked away. He said nothing, unsure of the answer himself. 

“I won't allow you to stay if you've come just to be cruel,” the sailor warned him. "But if you have a genuine reason for seeing Victor, then. . . " He gestured at the open coffin. ". . . by all means. I won't stop you." 

The creature looked up and eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?” he asked. “And why do you care about what happens to Victor?”

The man inclined his chin ever so slightly as he said, “My name is Robert Walton, the captain of this vessel. And Victor Frankenstein might well be the dearest friend I’ve had.”

. . .

The creature grimaced. “Captain Robert Walton,” he echoed. “You do realize Victor’s blood is on my hands, correct? I am as good as his murderer, and yet you would invite me to stay with you as you grieve? You who was nothing but a friend to him?”

The captain hesitated for a split-second but nodded. 

For a long moment, the creature considered his offer, weighing his options. He could leave now, simply force his way out, and no human would be able to stop him, certainly not the captain. But then the chances that he could sneak back onto the ship without encountering someone would be slim. This might be his only chance to see Victor up close again. Or, he could take the human’s surprisingly kind offer and run whatever hidden risks it entailed. 

Eventually, the creature sighed and said, “Very well. I came here to see Victor one last time, and I would deeply regret it if I were to leave without doing just that.” 

Nodding, Walton stepped aside to make room next to the coffin. The creature elected to kneel before it, not to show respect but to spare himself the effort of hunching over too much. That, and he thought it might make Walton more comfortable, since it would make their height difference less pronounced. However, the human still seemed minuscule beside him, and from the way he kept darting glances to his side, the creature knew he was making him uneasy. 

“Fear not, Captain,” said the creature. “I swear that I will not harm you. Not tonight nor ever. So, you may rest easily. I will not disrupt your mourning any more than I have already.”

The captain’s cheeks reddened, and he returned his gaze fixedly to Victor, as did the creature. It was true, his creator’s expression was soft and peaceful, unlike anything the creature had ever seen on him in life. He reached out a hand and let it hover over Victor’s mouth and nose. He held it there for a full minute, but no breath emerged. A little disappointed, he withdrew his arm and sighed. Then, he spared a glance at Walton and caught the captain hastily scrubbing tears out of his eyes. He froze mid-swipe, and their eyes met. 

“What?” Walton asked defensively. 

The creature shook his head and looked away, unable to articulate the complex swell of emotion he felt in his chest to see someone else so torn up over Victor’s death. There was confusion and anger in there, certainly, but there was also immeasurable guilt and sadness. 

“No, what?” Walton demanded, probably assuming the creature’s averted eyes meant judgment and condescension. 

The creature shifted so he was no longer kneeling but sitting back on his legs, which were doubled underneath him. He was now roughly equal to the captain in height. “You really cared about Victor, didn’t you?” he asked softly, and there was not a drop of malice in his voice.

“I. . . “ Walton began then let out a long exhale. “I don’t know. It’s a long story.” 

The creature surprised him by rumbling, “I have nowhere else to be.” 

Walton narrowed his eyes. "You. . . really want to know?" he asked slowly. 

The creature nodded. "I was never able to truly understand Victor," he admitted. "I wonder if perhaps you had better luck. Either way, your story will shed more light on who he was as a person. It seems fitting to talk about that sort of thing on the eve of his funeral."

Walton seemed to consider these words. He fiddled with the sleeve of his coat as he thought, then eventually said, “Very well then. As you wish.” Clearing his throat, he launched into his story, speaking haltingly at first, and then with increased ardor. He told the creature about his Arctic expedition, for which he had spent nearly six years preparing. He spoke of the hopes and dreams he had piled upon its success as well as of his desire for a true friend. 

Next, he talked about how Victor had appeared, miraculously, like some sort of godsend, and how the two men had gotten along instantaneously. There was some spark within himself, Walton believed, that ignited as soon as he heard Victor speak for the first time. The creature was moved by the way Walton spoke about his creator, although this was certainly a Victor he had never been granted the ability to see. 

Lost in his story, Walton didn’t notice the creature’s pained expression and went on undeterred to explain how his own scientific ambitions had started to concern Victor, who said he saw some of himself in the captain. He described how he had listened in rapt awe to Victor tell his tale, in which the creature played so large a part, and how Walton had practically hung off of every word and transcribed it as best he could day in and day out. 

He spoke in hushed tones the whole time, lest he should wake any of his crewmates. But despite merely whispering, his voice rose and fell at times, then swelled in sweet cadences at others. Not to mention, the creature was fascinated by the many hand gestures he made while talking, seemingly without thinking about them. Motion like that did not come naturally to the creature at all. Trailing off as he caught up to the present, Walton lapsed into silence some thirty minutes later. 

"Sorry if I said too much," he said after another minute. "I hope you were able to learn something new about Victor from my story."

The creature shook his head. "Just that he didn't deserve all the kindness you bestowed upon him,” he couldn’t restrain himself from saying. “I think you hold him in too high an esteem.”

Walton’s eyes flashed with defiance for a split-second. Then, the flame was extinguished, and the captain just looked tired. “Please,” he said softly, “don’t speak too harshly of him. At least, not right now. Not when the wound of his death is so fresh in my heart."

Although the creature firmly believed in what he had said, part of him wished he could revoke his words and spare Walton the pain of hearing them. So, he apologized and began rubbing at the scars along his wrists, which he often did when he was nervous. 

“Something else in your tale bothers me, though,” he continued, speaking more delicately than before.

The captain eyed him curiously, and the creature felt his face warming from the attention. He swiped a hand across his hair and let several dark strands obscure the captain from view. 

“You said Victor saw something of his own ambition within you," he went on. "Something that frightened hm. I know better than anyone the consequences of such blind ambition. And for what it’s worth, I don't see that same fever inside you. To me, you don't seem anything like Victor, no matter what he might have said.”

The creature spared a glance at the captain to see how he had reacted to these words. He was looking away again, so his expression was unreadable.

“I didn’t take it as an insult when Victor said it,” he admitted. “And I’m not sure if I do now, knowing his full story. To tell you the truth, I was more than a little enamored with him.” He paused, then admitted, “I think I might have loved him.” A small laugh escaped his lips. “That’s foolish of me to say, isn’t it? And I'm sure it's the last thing you want to hear, about the man who wronged you so.” 

A surge of envy bubbled in the creature’s stomach. He could not tell if it was because he thought this man too good for Victor or if it he just wished his own rapport with his creator had been as warm. 

“But obviously Victor didn’t feel the same way,” Walton remarked, and the creature thought he detected a tint of bitterness in his voice. “The entire time I knew him, he was so focused on the past, so completely fixated on the people he had loved and lost, that I don’t think he ever considered that there could be other people in his life he could love. That he could have hope again. . . ” He sighed. “I don’t mean to diminish his sufferings. I know it can’t have been easy to have lost everyone in his life like that. But. . . I honestly think that his inability to see a viable future is what. . . what led him to this.” He gestured to his friend’s corpse. “The only thing fueling him in the end was revenge, and what is a hot emotion like that to do amongst the coldness of the Arctic? Once that flame was snuffed out. . . there was nothing.” He made a vague gesture with his hands to illustrate his point then sighed. “I miss him terribly, though. It’s hardly been a full day, and already I long to hear his voice again. . . “ 

The creature felt his own heart twist at the longing in Walton's voice and at the anguish written so plainly across his face. He was suddenly and painfully aware of his own role in putting it there. “I’m so sorry,” he told the captain. “This is all my fault.”

Walton’s head snapped up at that. “What? That’s not true!” he protested. He pressed a hand over his mouth, eyes widening at his own remark. When he next spoke, it was in a significantly softer voice. “That’s not true at all,” he pressed. “I may have loved Victor, but even I can see he was just as responsible as you for everything that happened. The blame cannot rest solely on one person’s shoulders. None of us are Atlases.”

“Perhaps Victor started this by giving me life and abandoning me to fend for myself,” agreed the creature, “but I had the power to end our rivalry at any time, and I didn’t. If I hadn’t killed Elizabeth, or Henry, or Justine, or William. . . “ He shuddered at all the names. “It’s like you said: The only thing keeping Victor going was revenge. The same is true of me. And now that that motive is gone. . . It won't be long before I end up like him.” He nodded at Victor and sighed, reminded of what he had promised himself he would do next. “Anyway. . . Thank you for letting me see his body for myself. That’s really all I came here to do. I should be on my way now. I may as well just get it over with. . . There's nothing left for me here anymore now that he's dead.“ 

He stood up and started to leave once more, but again Walton implored him to wait. 

“What now?” The creature was both relieved and irritated by the captain’s persistence.

“I can’t just let you go off and kill yourself!” he protested hotly. 

The creature frowned. “Why not? You don’t owe me anything. In fact, isn’t this the perfect resolution to your story? The fiend who so tormented your beloved falls on his own sword and dies at last.”

Walton shook his head. “That’s no one’s perfect resolution.” More quietly, he repeated, “Please. Stay. At least for the funeral tomorrow. It won't really be a proper send-off, but that's when we're going to leave Victor's body behind. I'll say a few words for him. You can, too. Please. You might be the only one on this entire ship who understands how I feel about him. You're certainly the only one I've ever told. And besides, no one else cares about Victor as strongly as we do, for better or for worse."

The creature was left speechless by being included in a "we" for the first time in his life. Unaware of the impact of his word choice, Walton pressed on, carried away in his imagination.

"Even after the funeral, you're welcome to stay. My crewmates and I can make sure you make it safely back to the mainland. You can find a cottage in the mountains somewhere, in an isolated place far from any towns. You can start over, free from all that torments you.”

“But who torments me more than myself?” the creature countered suddenly, finding his voice again. “Someone as kind as you would never be able to understand. My conscience is weighed down by the atrocities I’ve committed and by the people whose lives I’ve destroyed. Wherever I go, I will never be free. Just as Adam and Eve committed the original sin, so too am I forever cast out of Eden.” 

Walton didn't say anything to that, and the creature thought he was finally convinced that there was no hope for a miserable wretch like him. He started again to leave, and for the third time that night, Walton cried for him to stay. This time, however, he rose to his feet, caught at the creature’s hand, and held it. Too shocked to pull away, the creature could feel Walton’s warmth seeping into him like honey. 

“Well, what if you — ” the captain began. Then he cleared his throat and tried again. “Why don’t you plant a new garden?” When the creature said nothing, not even daring to breathe with the captain holding onto him so resolutely, Walton pressed, “It’s true we cannot erase the past, but the future is an open book, a letter we’ve yet to write. Even though Victor was never able to fully realize this, it’s not too late for you.” He pressed the creature's hand gently for emphasis as he said the final "you." "Nobody else has to die in this story. There's been far too much death already."

With his free hand, Walton wiped at his eyes, and the creature noticed he was holding back another onslaught of tears. He had seen people cry plenty of times before, first during his stay with the De Lacey family and then as he watched the Frankenstein family mourn each successive loss, caused by none other than the creature himself. Usually the person crying was alone, but when they were not, it fell to the other people in the room to comfort them. Often, their support was conveyed through touch and reassuring words. 

The creature had never tried to comfort someone before. Indeed, he had never had anyone to comfort. And he didn’t trust himself to speak in that moment, lest his poorly chosen words should upset Walton even more. But before he could think too hard about what he was doing, he was reaching forward and folding the human into his arms, as delicately as if he were holding a bird. To his surprise, Walton did not pull away but instead wrapped his arms around the creature and let himself cry. Although the creature's skin was scarcely warmer than the air in the cabin, Walton was wearing several layers of clothing, including his large coat, and the cold didn't seem to bother him. But the creature felt bright flare-ups of heat wherever the captain's bare palms and uncovered face pressed against him, and the creature realized this hug was something he needed as well. It quickly became very unclear who was comforting whom. 

Soon the creature too was crying, for he had never known someone to trust him like this, and he never wanted their hug to end. However, warring with these feelings of joy and relief came the ever familiar forces of doubt and dread. Shouldn’t Walton be afraid for his life in the presence of such a hideous being? What if someone walked in on them and attacked the creature, just as Felix De Lacey had spurned him when he saw him bent before his father in supplication? 

There were so many reasons why Walton should not behave as he did in that moment. Common sense even advised against it. Yet the captain allowed himself to receive comfort from the creature, who felt he was undeserving of such a role. Could it be that someone as kind as Walton was truly at ease showing such vulnerability before the creature? And if so, didn't that mean that he had faith in the creature's kindness? Even the creature himself felt he no longer knew what he was capable of. But the idea, however fleeting, that Walton might trust him made the creature's heart leap into his throat. Unwilling to move his hands from where they gently encircled the captain, the creature lifted his head up and desperately tried to blink back his tears. It wasn't that he was ashamed to cry so much as he was afraid of disturbing Walton lest his tears should fall into the captain's hair. 

Luckily, he needn't have worried about that, and he soon lost track of how long they held each other. The captain showed no signs of pulling away, and eventually, his sobs subsided, his small body slackening. The creature wasn't concerned at first, since he was so lost in his own thoughts about the future. But when several minutes had passed without so much as a peep from Walton, the creature noticed and feared he had hurt him. Terrified of this possibility, he loosened his already-slight grip and inspected Walton’s face nervously. His head was as limp as the rest of his body, and the creature was ready to assume the worst when the captain began snoring lightly. The creature’s hulking form sagged in relief.

He wanted to settle the captain in a bed or somewhere else soft and warm, but he knew very little about the ship’s layout and was not eager to go exploring again. It was one thing to creep about on his own, but if a sailor saw him carrying their unconscious captain, they might assume what the creature himself had: that Walton was dead and not merely sleeping. 

The creature considered his position for several minutes, then decided to sit down and let himself lean against the far wall. He carefully adjusted Walton as he did so, and he ended up practically cradling the man. He wouldn’t stay like that for long, he decided. He would set Walton down soon enough and leave, disappear into the Arctic ice like he had planned with no one around to stop him. Then the last remaining evidence of Victor’s experiments would be destroyed, and the world would be all the better for it. 

However, the creature soon found himself distracted from this purpose, lost in thought while staring down at the captain. His expression was so peaceful, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows arched. Although there was some resemblance in his loose features to the form of Victor lying across the room, there was something unmistakably alive in Walton, a vitality and warmth that Victor now lacked. 

The creature was suddenly and inexplicably caught by the desire to do for Walton what he could never do for Victor. That is, to fill his life with joy and light rather than darkness and destruction. Maybe Walton was right, and he could build a new garden for himself and find others who sincerely loved him. The creature had not allowed himself to consider this simple joy since he had been pushed away by the De Lacey family. Back then, he had taken it as a sign that he was not worthy of any goodness the world had to offer. After all, if the kindest of humans rejected him, what was left for him to hope for? 

However, now it seemed to him that the person he held so tenderly in his arms was the best of humanity, not the De Lacey family. The creature even thought it might be possible to let himself be loved, if only he could move past the debilitating guilt that rose in his throat like bile and threatened to overtake him whenever he was reminded of the horrors he had wrought upon the Frankenstein family. Perhaps he could find a way to cope with these terrible memories and once again be moved to kindness. He could never bring back the people he had killed or erase the dark mark he had left on the world. But he might be able leave a second, kinder legacy for himself. Gazing down at Walton, he thought it might be worth a try and that the least he could do was give himself one more chance at finding happiness before he snuffed out his existence for good. 

A couple hours passed, and still the creature had not moved. At that point, Walton shifted in his sleep and covered what little space there was between the two. His warm breath tickled the creature’s arm in this new position, and the creature felt his heart ache more painfully than ever with the desire to do good. Suddenly, he was struck by the urge to kiss Walton, a gesture he had seen many humans use to convey their gratitude. However, kissing was unfamiliar territory, and the creature was too anxious about the likelihood that he would mess it up. Instead, he pushed that impulse aside and reached down to gently tuck a lock of Walton’s hair behind his ear. It might have been his imagination, but he thought the captain smiled slightly in his sleep at the sensation. 

. . .

The creature never fell asleep as wholly as Walton, but he did allow himself to doze off, his eyes fluttering shut and his breathing evening out. He didn’t have to breathe as often as the average person, and when he was reposing, he only took two or three deep breaths a minute. So it was in a state of half-consciousness that the creature was dimly aware of mounting activity onboard the ship as the morning approached. 

As the din increased and footsteps approached the cabin they were in, the creature began to regret spending the whole night with Walton. He was especially concerned about how he would leave now without the cover of night to aid him and without any of the other sailors spotting him. Although the captain had told him he was welcome to stay for Victor’s funeral and even after that, surely his offer couldn’t be backed by any of his crewmates. Once they laid eyes on the creature, they would certainly despise him, just as Victor, William, and so many others had. 

The creature started to shake with fear and realized only too late that his trembling was waking up Walton. The captain mumbled something and stretched a little before opening his eyes and staring up at the creature. It was much lighter in the cabin now, and the creature feared Walton would be horrified now that he could see his facial features more clearly. Thick scars puckered their way along his forehead, across one cheekbone, and most unsettlingly for many, around the entire circumference of his neck. The creature ducked his head self-consciously and let his long hair obscure as much of his face as possible. 

Walton, however, did not flinch or try to run away. Instead, he breathed, “You’re still here.”

The creature flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstay my welcome. I can go right now if you — “

“No,” Walton was quick to say. “No, I want you here.” He got unsteadily to his feet and closed his eyes as the room swayed around him. He pressed one hand to his forehead, apologized, then explained, “I haven’t eaten much in the past few days.” 

Before the creature could say anything in response, there were several quick raps at the door. Walton spun around, but the creature did not move, counting on the fact that he appeared much shorter and more human when sitting down. 

“Captain?” a voice called out. “Captain, may I come in?”

Walton smoothed down his jacket and felt to make sure his hair wasn’t too messy then said, “Yes, you may.” 

The door opened with a creak, and a sailor with an endearing gap between his two front teeth stepped in. “Captain, we’re ready to drop the body whenever you’re — “ He halted as he noticed the creature, and fear flashed through his eyes. “Um, who is. . . “ He pointed a shaking finger. 

Walton didn’t let his resolution waver. “This is my friend,” he told the man. “He came to pay his respects to Frankenstein. He’s known him for many years.” 

The sailor blinked and echoed, “A friend? How do you mean? How did he get onboard the ship?”

“He traveled into the Arctic with Frankenstein,” Walton explained. “You remember that sled we saw a few days before we took him on board, yes? Well, that was none other than our friend here. He’s doubled back on his course now that Frankenstein is no longer with us.” Walton turned back to look at the creature. “Did I explain everything correctly?" 

The creature started a little upon being brought into the conversation, especially at being referred to repeatedly as a "friend," but he nodded and agreed, “Yes, that’s what happened.” 

The sailor seemed to relax a little upon hearing the creature’s soothing voice. It seemed to assure him of the creature’s humanity more than anything.

“Well, I’m Sebastian Jones. It’s nice to meet you.” He crossed the room and held out his hand to the creature, who blinked at it in wonder for a couple seconds before reaching out and shaking it. The sailor laughed, only a little nervously. “Boy, your hands are huge, though. You make me feel like a rag doll. What's your name?" 

The creature panicked and said the first thing that came to mind. “Milton. Um. . . “ He realized the man was expecting a last name too. “Milton Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein?” His eyebrows shot up and he looked over at Victor’s body. “Well, I’m extra sorry for your loss then. I didn’t realize you were his family. If you had found our ship just a couple days sooner. . . “ The sailor clucked his tongue sadly. "I'll be on the main deck, if either of you needs me." He squeezed Walton’s shoulder comfortingly as he went out.

The door closed behind him, and the creature found Walton eyeing him curiously.

“Your name is Milton?” he asked. “I never knew. . . “

“It’s, um. . . fairly new,” the creature admitted. Although he had toyed with the concept of naming himself as far back as when he lived with the De Lacey family, he had never before shared his ideas with anyone. He would have felt incredibly foolish mentioning it to Victor. “After John Milton," he continued. "You know, the man who wrote Paradise Lost? You referenced his work earlier, so I assume you’re familiar with him.”

Walton nodded. “Yes, I know of Milton and Paradise Lost,” he agreed. “But, to be honest, I just thought we were talking Biblical allusions with all that Garden of Eden stuff.”

The creature — Milton — frowned. “Biblical allusions?” he repeated, unsure what the phrase meant.

“Yeah, you know. . . like the Bible.”

Milton shook his head. “I was referencing Paradise Lost. I don’t know what that other book is. Does it have a similar story?” 

Walton covered his mouth with one hand, and Milton assumed he had said something to repulse him. He instinctively shrank in on himself, pulling his tattered cloak tight around his shoulders. Then, he realized Walton wasn’t afraid or revolted. He was just laughing. This confused Milton more than ever.

“I don’t understand,” he told the captain. “What’s so funny? What did I do?”

Walton continued to laugh, but he waved one hand apologetically as he did so. “I’m sorry. . . I’m sorry. . . “ he managed. “You didn’t do anything. . . you’re fine! It’s just. . . “ He finally composed himself and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I grew up in England, where Christianity has been commonplace for I don’t know how many hundred years. Practically everyone grew up reading the Bible. That’s the book Paradise Lost was based on. So, to hear you talk about the Bible as though it’s a parody of Milton is hilarious. Milton wasn’t even alive until over a thousand years after the Bible was written.” He saw Milton’s slightly hurt face and assured him, “Don’t worry, I much prefer Paradise Lost to the Bible. And I think your name is really quite fantastic. Milton Frankenstein. . . ” he mused, testing the name out for himself. His amusement wavered, and he began to sober up by degrees. A minute or so later, he said, “We really should hold our makeshift funeral now. I don't think we stand to gain anything by waiting.” He held out a hand to Milton. “Will you join me on the main deck?”

Milton hesitated. He wanted to say yes, wanted to tell Walton that he would gladly follow him anywhere he asked, if only he could hold him again and see him smile. But he couldn't escape the fact of how monstrous he was and how his appearance made other people feel. “Won't your crewmembers be frightened of me?" he asked.

Walton shook his head. “You saw how Jones reacted. I imagine that's how it'll be for most everyone. If they're wary of you at first, then they’ll soon learn they have nothing to fear. Stay by my side, though, okay? I could use the support.” 

Milton nodded and took Walton’s hand. The captain no longer felt scathingly hot to him. After so many hours wrapped in each other's embrace, their temperatures had evened out quite nicely. Now, holding on to Walton felt as natural to Milton as holding a book. Something about their shapes just seemed to click into his place. He let himself be pulled to his feet by his new friend. Then, for the first time in years, he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I have more ideas for this AU, too, but if I ever write and post them, I will do so in a separate story and just make it part of the same series. Thanks for reading~ <3 (Also, extra thanks to anyone who was hoping this followed "Paradise Regained," discovered it doesn't, but decided to give it a chance anyway~ <3 <3)


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